


Unlonely

by TK_DuVeraun



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Awakening Companions (cameos), F/M, Hiding depression behind cheerfulness, Major character death is not Anders or Surana, Origins Companions (cameos), Soulmate-Identifying Marks, fun magic, soulmate tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-12 14:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18012788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun
Summary: Briscilia Surana is lucky to be Unmarked. Until she is. Until she recognizes the Mark. She knows who her partner is, but notwhereAnders is.Oh, and there's a Blight on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As mentioned in the tags **THE MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH IS NEITHER SURANA, NOR ANDERS** that's why I also put "no archive warnings apply." However, the death with deeply affect one or both of them and there will be a warning at the beginning of the chapter featuring it.

The thing about being a mage in the South was that you didn’t want a Mark. Well, aside from the whole, trapped in a Circle, under the complete control of Templars, kept on the edge of starving so you don’t get any ideas, Silenced for ‘looking shifty’ and threatened with Tranquility thing. Briscilia was one of the lucky ones. She didn’t get a Mark when she was brought to the Tower - that was Karl. One didn’t appear when she tried to escape - that was Anders and she never tried to escape, anyway. Nothing marked her skin when she was Harrowed - that was Amell.

Well, nothing  _ magical _ marked her skin. She, Amell and Jowan conspired and plotted and schemed and experimented until they figured out how to tattoo properly without infections or the ink disappearing in a week. Jowan chickened out after a tiny star above his knee. Amell had Brisk do a coat of arms he was mostly sure belonged to his family. It was from Kirkwall and even if it wasn’t his family, it looked really cool under the griffon on his back. Brisk covered both arms with trees and flowers and halla and nugs and constellations until Greagoir dragged her into his office and checked every inch of skin for disguised blood magic scars.

When Duncan freed her from the Tower, she was sure a griffon would appear on her back. Amell was nice-looking. His name being Jules was unfortunate, but that’s why they called him Amell. “Can you check my back?”

Duncan looked up from polishing his sword. He blinked across the fire and lowered the rag. “Does it hurt? I’ve seen…” He sighed. “No point in pretending you don’t know. I know the Templars are free with the whip. Do you have lesions?”

She dropped her piece of stale bread and knocked it between her hands twice before managing to catch it. “No! I was lucky. I never did anything to get whipped. Well, except that one time, but Anders took the blame because he’s a prince and I miss him. Can we go back and get him, too? I mean, the Blight’s on. More Wardens the better, right? He’s a Spirit Healer. Brilliant mage! And I promise he won’t run away. I mean, you have to promise to take him to Kirkwall after the Blight, but you can do that, right? It’s not that far. We’ll be real quick, I promise.”

“You’re rather excitable.” Duncan laughed when she shoved the bread in her mouth to keep from interrupting. “Right now, we’re needed at Ostagar. Assuming the archdemon doesn’t show itself before we repel the assault, we can head back and see if I can’t convince Irving and Greagoir to part with some of your friends.”

“That’d be great! Amazing, yes, please-” She bit her palm.

“Just remember, they may not want to Join. Being a Grey Warden isn’t freedom; it’s a Calling.” A dark look crossed his face. A familiar one. One that mages in the Circle wore before they were corpses in the Circle. “We’ll see if you still want them to come after you’ve been Joined and fought some darkspawn.”

“Anything’s better than the Circle!”

His face morphed in the right ways, mouth turning down, compassionate wrinkle between his eyebrows, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “We’ll see. Now, what’s this about your back?”

“That, yes! See, Amell, he was the one with blue eyes and dark hair and that cherub pout, anyway, he has a big griffon for a Mark. Right on the top of his back. And since I’m a Warden now…”

Duncan’s laugh was genuine and full of more light than the campfire. “You want to see if you’re Marked. Of course I’ll take a peek. And we can check after the Joining if it’s not there. There are rumors that Marks won’t appear on Joined Wardens, but that’s a lie.” He tapped his chest over his heart. “Little fish appeared right here about five years ago. Don’t know if I’ve ever met them, but it’s comforting.”

Brisk unbuttoned the neck of her robes and pushed them back so Duncan could look down the back of her collar. He turned her back to the fire and looked down her robes, taking care not to touch her skin or pull too hard. 

“Not yet, but the Joining may well trigger it.”

She closed up her robes and pulled her sleeves down over her hands. “I never thought I’d want to be Marked. It’s a curse in the Circle. If your partner is there, you’re immediately separated. If they think you’re too interested in it, they make you Tranquil. You can’t ever visit other Circles or transfer if you’re Marked, even if your partner’s not there because what if seeing you makes it appear? Well not always. Karl was transferred after he was Marked, but that’s because his partner was transferred to Kinloch from Ostwick. A Templar! Neither of them know, of course. I only know because he asked me to tattoo around his Mark and I recognized Karl’s.”

“You have a lot of ideas in your head. I like that.”

“Well you’re not allowed to have ideas in the Circle, so they’ve all just been in my mouth taking up space and getting chewed on like brontos chewing grass. Did you know they have six stomachs? That’s a lot of grass and a lot of chewing. Anders told me that one. It’s in one of the healing books. It’s been stuck behind my teeth for months, months! Just chew, chew- Look, I put a little bronto horn on the vines here, so I’d remember.” She pulls back her left sleeve to the elbow and sticks her arm nearly in the fire to show him.

“You did these?”

“Most of them. Anders did Mister Wiggums, here. Jowan did the wonky lily. Lily said she wanted one and he wanted practice. He’s still not good enough, but I wasn’t going to let him do more. Amell did Draconis, but it’s on my other arm. He was really hoping for a dragon Mark. He wrote a story about him being a dragon slayer like the Pentaghasts. Wouldn’t that be mad? A mage getting to fight dragons these days.” A breeze chilled her, so Brisk pulled her sleeve down. “I still remember it. Do you want to hear it? It not a bad story.”

“As long as you don’t get cross if I fall asleep.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re really good at that, you know. Drawing.”

Briscilia looked over the campfire at Alistair. Instead of meeting her eyes, he bowed his head and scrubbed at his hair with both hands.

“I do believe she knows her own skills, yes,” Morrigan said. She sat away from the Wardens, just close enough to eavesdrop and make snide comments. Despite the chill in the evening air, she wore no coat nor did she wrap a blanket around her shoulders.

Brisk’s nose twitched as she felt around for Fade energy. Morrigan sat in a halo of wasted warming magic to look above the weather. Hopefully she realized it was unsustainable before they were attacked by darkspawn again. “If you fancy him so much, you should let him make his own mistakes instead of trying to fix him. Unless you want him to stay all puppy-cheeked forever. I don’t blame you; he’s kind of cute, I suppose. Still smells too much like a Templar for me-”

“For the last time, that’s just how armor smells-”

“-but each to their own, you know? Anders really fancied Karl, even though they were both Marked, but that was better for them, I guess? Safer? Of course, Karl was still booted across the sea to Kirkwall. I’ve heard Kirkwall’s terrible.” She straightened her face, tilted her ears up and lifted her chin to recite from memory. 

“ _The City of Chains,_  
_ So aptly named.  _

_ Trudge forward with head held down,   
Hold no hands lest you, too, drown.  _

_ From Hightown, nobles watch so,   
_ _As you’re forced to your knees, low._ ”

The ditty bounced off her tongue and splattered against the fire. Into the silence, Brisk tore the drawing out of her journal, her thumb smudging Duncan’s pauldron. He stared off the page, the little fish from over his heart drawn behind his head. She couldn’t remember if it had whiskers, so it had two on one side of its face and none on the other. “Would you like to see a magic trick, Morrigan?”

The words ‘magic trick’ made Morrigan’s lips pucker like she was chewing mugwort instead of her tongue, but she nodded to Brisk despite it. “I know many tricks, but if you would like, you may proceed.” 

“You know a lot of spells. Very fancy ones. I can’t see you wasting your time on tricks. That’s more an Anders and Amell thing. Maybe it has to do with their names starting with A. Another reason Jules is a stupid name; he was meant to be an A.” Brisk shoved her journal into her pack and pulled out a satchel of spell components. It had a sunflower stitched on it from Lily’s perfect needle, so she traded it with the bag until she had the small frog pouch. Just before smearing a pinch of herbs and minerals over the drawing, she held it out to Alistair.

His hand shook when he took it and his fingers crunched into the page. “You really captured him, Briscilia.”

“Brisk.”

“Brisk. Thank you. You did him a good service.” He handed it back and swiped at the tears on his cheeks. He scratched himself with his gauntlet, but even Morrigan was kind enough not to comment.

Brisk rubbed the mixture into the paper with circular pressure from two fingers. “Alright, when it burns, say something kind about him. Something good. Something you would want said to you.” 

The paper hung above the flames until Alistair nodded. Fire licked the edges and turned bright green, then purple, then yellow, then blue. As it burned up, the fish swam off the page, thin white lines that connected stars. It had one whisker on each cheek and hovered over the flames, waiting.

Voice rough and stumbling, Alistair spoke past the tremble in his lips. “He had the compassion of a father for everyone under his command.”

The fish swam a tight circle before diving into the flames.

Brisk clapped her hands and laughed as brightly as the fire burned. “That was great! Lovely! I hope his partner isn’t afraid of magic. That’ll be a nasty shock. At least they only appear when you’re alone. Supposedly the spell was made in Montsimmard, but green shale doesn’t form naturally there, so I think the Orlesians are just blowing smoke.”

“You can… Send magical messages to your partner?” Morrigan asked, her voice as brittle as her temper.

“Of course!” Brisk said. “But only if you’re dead. Bit grim, but better than nothing. Amell and Jowan were trying to figure out how to do it when you’re alive, but then he fell in love with Lily, Jowan that is, not Amell, he only loves dragons and sometimes me. I hope he’s still alive. All three of them. Four if you count Lily. Five if you count Karl. Oh, I could find out about Karl.”

Alistair licked his lips and rubbed his eyes. There was a wrinkle between his brows as he tried to make sense of everything she said. “How could you, er, find out about Karl?”

“Well, I’ll find out about the others once we get to the Tower. Except Jowan, since he escaped, but the other, others. Oh, but Karl? His partner is a Templar lad. Dark skin, but illegally pink cheeks, so Anders says. Templars aren’t allowed to be cute, you know? But he is Karl’s partner, so we didn’t report him. Anyway, we can just ask if he got a message. Kirkwall is terrible, but we sent them the spell instructions a bunch of times and Senior Enchanter Wynne said her generation did, too. It’s polite. Spread it around. A pretty jewel for our Circular cages, but it’s nice to know you weren’t alone.”

“But if you receive one such message, does that not mean you are then alone? And forevermore?” Her emotions weakened her magic and Morrigan leaned into the fire and rubbed the chill from her arms. She was rather pretty when she wasn’t looking down her nose at everything.

“Of course not. Your partner is just a friend that comes for free. You can be as unlonely as you want if you’re willing to put in the effort. And if you’re sneaky enough, in the Circles, anyway. But now I can have as many friends as I want.”

It took a moment for the thoughtful expression to leave Morrigan’s face. She pulled away from the fire and pulled the purse out of her lips and the wonder out of her eyes. “I do hope you do not collect anyone as chatty as you are.”

“I’ll run out of words eventually. I only have one stomach. Not six.”


	3. Chapter 3

Blood dripped from Briscilia’s sliced eyebrow and onto her cheek. It itched and felt hot and gross, but better for it to drip than slither down into her eye like thick, red tears. Returning to the Tower had been so simple in theory. She planned to show up, wave a bunch of important papers in Greagoir’s face, grab Amell, Anders and maybe Lily and then run off to Orzammar. Her first mistake was forgetting that Greagoir had already sent Lily to Aeonar. She tore off what remained of her tattered, left sleeve and wiped some of the blood off her face and snapped her fingers. “Sten, get me a box. Now.”

Without hesitation, he ripped a battered crate out from underneath a resting Templar and set it on the floor in front of Brisk. He didn’t smile when she ignored him and stepped onto it without a glance. His posture spoke his approval loud-enough, with the strong set of his shoulders and the proud tilt of his chin.

“I have just been discussing the situation with the Senior Enchanter and I believe-” Greagoir choked and sputtered when Brisk shoved her hand under his garrote and grabbed his throat. Both of his hands fumbled and scratched at her bare arm.

“You don’t get to talk now. I do the talking.” After dropping the bloody remnants of her sleeve, she wiggled her fingers at her companions. Leliana had enough flare for the dramatic to hand her a piece of paper. Brisk slapped it against his face and rubbed it around until his sweat made the ink smear. “This fancy paper-” It wasn’t, in fact, the Warden Treaties, but it wasn’t the time to split hairs. “-says that during a Blight you have to do what I say. I didn’t trawl through this Creator’s-forsaken tower because you asked. I did it to save my friends and they’re all gone.”

The only Templar not frozen in shock by the display raised his sword to perform a smite, but was met with Zevran’s dagger under his chin. “I would not do that, if I were you. My friend is speaking now.”

“And if you want to pretend there’s not a Blight on, I have a little vial of darkspawn blood with your name on it. Kind of like a phylactery, isn’t it?” The vial actually held molasses, but, again, he didn’t need to know that. “You and your little tin soldiers will join me on the battlefield when I call. In the meantime, you will destroy every phylactery in Kinloch Hold and release every mage that wishes to leave.”

After a deep breath, Greagoir shouted, “She’s just one ma-”

Brisk tightened her grip, jamming her thumb into his windpipe. She wouldn’t have had the strength before the Joining, but there was one benefit to hearing the Call of the archdemon. “Your Chantry won’t send any of their precious mage captors to Ferelden during a Blight. Do you know what that means? The Wardens aren’t the only ones getting no reinforcements from Orlais. Either you do exactly what I order when I order it, or I’ll murder my way down the Templar ranks until I find someone who will.”

Greagoir’s conviction wasn’t worth his life. He nodded, pupils wide with fear.

After throwing him to the ground, Brisk hopped off her crate. For a moment, she considered biting off the cork and downing the molasses to prove a point, but that would make Alistair cry and ruin the entire image. She pocketed it and wiped off her hands on her robe. “I’m not unreasonable, Greagoir. You only put in me in solitary for no reason once. You’re going to make two copies rescinding the order to send Anders to Aeonar. One you’re going to send after his hunters with the fastest horses you can afford. And Owain will write the requisitions, so I know they’re actually the fastest you can afford. The second copy you give to me in case I find him first. And Amell gets a proper burial. With a letter sent to his family in Kirkwall.”

Brisk looked at Morrigan and mouthed ‘Anything else?’

The question swirled in Morrigan’s mind. She checked her supply stores and then mimed reading a book.

“And I’m taking whatever I want from the restricted library on the way out.”

“Of course,” he coughed, “Mage Sur-”

Fire magic shot through the Fade and heated the skin of Greagoir’s neck where the bruising was just beginning to set in. “You will address me by my real name, if you even know it, or by Grey Warden.”

“Honored,” Leliana whispered.

“Honored Grey Warden. Like I said.” She turned her back on him and stalked up to Irving. “The restricted books.”

He nodded, every year of his age hanging off his shoulders and pulling him to the floor. Even his staff drooped as much as the sagging skin around his eyes. Once they had left Greagoir and the Templars behind, he said, “The moment the Blight ends, there will be reprisals.”

“Then you had better convince Greagoir this is the way things should be before then instead of cowering behind your title and dragging us to the Templars like lambs to the slaughter. You should have protected us and you didn’t.” The words snapped like Dog’s staccato barks. “You’re one of them.”

“You were never like this before.”

“I was always like this, Irving,” she stresses his name, refusing to let him have a title. “This is just the first time I won’t be Branded for letting anyone else know.” She flexes her arms, shoving the tattoos in his face. “You should have known when you saw these that it was all a facade. That I was covering everything so I wouldn’t be hurt by a Mark. That I was expressing myself in the only way I could. Ask Wynne how much ‘abdominal trauma’ she’s had to heal over the years. More than half the girls and some of the boys. Oh, Uldred didn’t sicken you, but that does? What you let complicity let happen for years? I hope your Maker is real just so you can be judged for the lives you ruined.”

When he unlocks the cupboard with the forbidden books, Brisk rubs the tears from her eyes and sniffs. “And make sure Amell’s headstone has a dragon on it. I’ll knock this Tower down with my own hands if it doesn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brisk takes over as the Important Papers (wo)Man.


	4. Chapter 4

Redcliffe Village smelled like mold and a greasy, clinging smell that Zevran cheerily informed Briscilia was decay. She sat in a scorched and salted circle next to the campfire, but even the burning embrium couldn’t mask the smell of the no-longer-so-risen dead. She mashed brittle dragonthorn seed pods in her summer stone mortar and pestle. They screeched against the stone and fought against their imminent powderization. Her grimoire laid open in front of her, though calling it a grimoire was somewhat self-aggrandizing. It was a small, leather-bound journal with her friends’ Marks burned into the covers. It held only a handful of ink recipes, tattooing instructions and the spell for sending a message to a lost partner.

Her stomach churned: half from the smell, half from the knowledge that the Arl of Redcliffe probably deserved every ounce of suffering he brought down on the villagers. She didn’t have proof it was his fault, yet, but after how he had ‘raised’ Alistair, Brisk was ready to stab the human in the kidney. She knew where kidneys were because Anders had shown her, had shown everyone in the Circle. Templar armor was pants against a good jab under the back plate and sometimes avoiding their cruel intentions was worth solitary.

Anders. Her heart bled in her chest, the blood swirling against the churning of her stomach and making everything worse. Run away, escaped, cursed to Aeonar, but not dead. Not dead. She repeated it like a mantra in her head every night before throwing his picture in the fire. He was the only one left. They were the only ones left.

Zevran plopped onto the ground next to her, half out of her circle of sterilized earth. He breathed through his nose. “You must dislike that man very much, to glare at the fire and burn his face every day.”

Eyes tracing over the newest portrait - this one had his hair long and braided over his shoulder - Brisk sighed. “Didn’t Alistair tell you about the partner spell? He brings it up every chance he gets; it gives him a chance to remember Duncan without it hurting. The fish leaping into the fire is good closure, I suppose; I’ve just seen it too many times and you never do it for good reason.”

“Ahh, so it is that spell.” Zevran twisted his thumbs together and flapped his hands like wings. “I was expecting a little bird to come out of the fire, but alas.”

“He got it the first time he tried to escape the Tower. That’s why it’s a bird. He needs to fly. Needs freedom. I did, too, but I didn’t understand, not really, not until I had it. I’ve been in the Circle since I was baby. I had been. Was. Still doesn’t feel real some days.”

“What is not real, my friend, is how you made the Templars kneel for you. We are, perhaps, less afraid of mages in Antiva than say, Ferelden or Orlais, but a Templar would not lower their sword on the order of a mage.” He laughed. “Must less an elf! Yes, you are what is unbelievable.”

“Thanks, Zev…” Brisk poured the powder from the mortar into her frog pouch and shook up the spell components. She scrubbed a pinch over Anders’ picture, but didn’t throw it into the fire. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes and a sob beat against her teeth, but if there was one thing she had practice in, it not crying when she needed to. With a jerk, the page flew into the flames. “Nothing. Still nothing. Good.”

“You wish for the spell to fail? Do forgive me, if it is not my place, but even if you envy his partner, should they not know?”

“What?” The word is more of a croak, but Zevran understands.

“Your tattoos are quite beautiful. Mostly. But that is not the point.” He tapped her left elbow. “I have seen his bird hiding in your trees.”

A bone-deep chill fell over Brisk as the blood drained out of her face. Stiff and with lips trembling, she turned to Zevran. “Wh-wha..?” Her mouth was too dry to make the word. “Wh-huh-whaa?”

“...Oh my friend. I am so sorry.” Zevran shook his head and took her wrist. 

When she didn’t protest, he rolled up her sleeve, revealing first Amell’s Draconis and Jowan’s failed lily and the the vines that bound them and then the lowest roots of the tree and no amount of practice kept the tears at bay when the crook of her arm was bared. There, half-behind the tree she stabbed into her own flesh was Anders’ warbler, complete with dangling ribbon. A whimper clawed its way past her clenched jaw and brought Dog running. Her mabari climbed into her lap and tried to lick the tears off her cheeks even as her wail pierced the night air.

“Wh-what’s going on? I wasn’t sleeping.” Alistair leapt to his feet and stumbled over his loose belt, falling hard onto the charred ground. Though it was still in his scabbard, he at least had his sword in hand. “Are we being attacked? More skeletons?”

In contrast, Morrigan didn’t move a muscle, continuing to hold her steaming mug in both hands. “The only thing ghoulish in this camp is you.”

“Hey! Why are you just sitting there? Brisk is-”

Wynne clapped her hand over Alistair’s mouth. “My you must be tired, if you’re seeing things. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

“I’m not seeing- Ouch!” Alistair looked down at Wynne’s grip on his wrist. His eyes widened when she stabbed her nail into his Mark - a rose. “Oh! Oh. Oh, uh, yeah, just, erm, tired! Very tired, haha. I’m just going to go right back to sleep on this completely silent night. Dead quiet, haha.”

Brisk could do nothing except muffle her sobs in Dog’s fur. Though it was near-freezing, her bare arm burned. Anders’ Mark blazed so sharp and bright in her eyes. Her Mark. Their Mark. Amell’s griffon had flown off through the fire, but Anders’ bird. His little warbler. Would it even appear if she was the one casting the spell?

She cried harder.


	5. Chapter 5

Whispers flitted between the trees. The branches reached out to other trees with grasping tendrils and vines to form a canopy as thick as any jungle’s. At least, according to the illustrations Briscilia had seen. “There aren’t even any jungles in Ferelden.”

Alistair startled and nearly fell from his horse. “How- Why…?”

Sten patted her mare’s neck. “You would like them, Kadan. The air is thick with life and tension. Predators drop from the canopy onto the unaware. It is a true test of strength and purpose.” He held up his hand to signal a halt to the mounted members of the party. He turned his head, the very tips of his pointed ears twitching. “But there is danger, even in these soft woods.”

Alistair rubbed the back of his neck and glanced over his shoulder. “I know this was my idea and the treaties and everything, but, uh, Dalish are nomadic, right? There’s no guarantee they’re even still here. And I think the trees are moving. We should go.”

“How very observant of you,” Morrigan said. “Indeed, the path has closed behind us. It would seem the only way is forward.”

“Don’t be nervous, Alistair-”

“You’re about to say ‘what could go wrong?’ so I’m going to put my fingers in my ears. La la la, I’m not listening. _Blessed are the peacesleepers, champions of the purse_ …”

Brisked used her staff to bridge the gap between their horses and bat his hands away from his head. “Stop that. I was going to say, the Brecilian Forest is my home. It’ll let us leave when I’m ready to go.”

“I thought you grew up in the Tower?”

“Her name being Brescilia is rather telling, one would think,” Morrigan said.

“One of many reasons names are foolish.”

“Don’t worry, Warrior, I’ll make sure none of the histories burden you with one.” With a ‘hup,’ Brisk lurched forward to stand in her stirrups. She took a deep breath, pulling the mist into her lungs. Magic formed over her eyes as she pulled on the Fade. She turned back to Alistair, eyes obscured by thick mist and breathed out more. “Feeling better now, Ali?”

Alistair yowled like someone had stepped on his tail and fell off the back of his horse, dangling from the stirrup by his left ankle. It made a loud snap with the fall, so Brisk felt a little guilty. At least one of the perks of being a Grey Warden was speedy recovery.

“Oops?”

“You _shems_ certainly make a lot of noise for trespassers.” A figure melted out of the underbrush, her armor a mottled green-brown. Her bow was in hand and she looked down her arrow at each of them in turn. The weapon fell from her shaking hands when she reached Brisk. “M-Mitriel? You’ve come back? As a spirit?”

Dispelling the mist, Brisk scrambled off her horse and used Sten as a hand-hold to launch herself to the trembling elf. She took her hands, fingers as narrow and short as her own, and pulled her close. “Mitriel? Is that my name? Or is that the older one? The records, the Templars said they took two. I’m-” Her throat was too dry to swallow. “I’m the baby. I’m-”

“My baby!” The woman’s armor groaned with how tightly she grabbed Br- Mitriel. She clutched the back of her head and cried into her hair. “My littlest girl. I didn’t- Keeper said they’d killed you, used you to bind your cousin’s magic in one of their horrid Chantry rituals. Her magic was so strong. Always dancing with- With blue fire. Oh my baby.”

Mitriel, Mitty? Mitty sounded right, Mitty pulled back and put her hands on her mother’s cheeks and wiped the tears away with her thumbs. “We can find her. Us, together, once the Blight is over. Storm the Circle in Montsimmard and pretend to conscript her.”

“Oh my baby.” Her mother pulled on the blue, studded gambeson. “They made you a Grey Warden.”

“I made me a Grey Warden. I made the choice.” Mitty shoved her sleeve up her left arm until Anders’ bird appeared. “I made the choice and I got this little warbler. I share him with your new son. We call him Anders. You’ll love him. He’s like two halves I can switch into me and nothing changes and he’s great and clever and smart and he protected me from the Templars and they’re _taking him to Aeonar_.” The name of the prison dissolved into a wail that made the trees shake and drop leaves like tears.

Alistair put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get him, Brisk. I promise. And your cousin. And then we can take on the whole Templar Order if you want. I’ll be with you. Even though you just broke my ankle.”

Laughing through her tears, Mitty released her mother’s face long enough to squeeze Alistair’s fingers.

“What’s a little maiming between friends? I see you beating St- Warrior up with big sticks at camp all the time. It’s just how you show affection. This Anders better be tough. Or I’ll make him tough. That’s what friends do, right? Threaten your partner?”

“Where did you find this human, love? He’s delightful,” her mother said. She wasn’t up to laughing, but her crying had stopped. “Come, we should get you to camp. The clan has… Keeper Zathrian will tell you. It’s only gotten worse since Clan Sabrae left. I love you. I want to help you so much with your Anders, but we need every hand right now.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll fix it. The _shems_ can wait. This is my home. And I’m good at fixing things. I solved the succession crisis in Orzammar. Did you know they have a monarchy? We didn’t have any books on the dwarves in the Tower. Even the forbidden section only talked about lyrium and the Merchant’s Guild. I brought someone from the Warrior Caste back with me, he smells and drinks a lot, but he’s nice enough. He’s guarding Sandal and Bohdan. Oh, you’ll love them, very sweet-” A sob from her mother interrupted Mitty.

“Your father could never stop talking either. Come, love, you can talk your lungs out in the camp.”


	6. Chapter 6

“‘It’ll just be a cushy desk job, Mitty,’ he says,” Mitriel, formerly Briscilia, said, throwing a fireball at a hurlock. “‘A Blight just ended. They’re all underground,’ he says. ‘You made me have sex with Morrigan; it’s your turn to take one for the team,’ he says.”

“What was that, Commander?” Mhairi said. Her pink armor was stained black and red with gore. Few of the Grey Warden staff holding the castle survived the assault. How the darkspawn entered Vigil’s Keep, they had no idea, but they were fighting their way through it regardless.

“This fight is a great house warming present, dontcha think?” Oghren said before belching. One of the Keep’s soldiers passed out: either from blood loss or from the stench. “Don’t worry about what little Brisk says. Ya only gotta listen half the time, tops.”

Fire burst from the ground at her feet, scorching the already-ruined rugs and felling the last of the darkspawn before Mitty. She spun her staff. “Maybe if you listened more, you’d still have both eyes.” Leaving him to wonder which of his two, perfectly functional eyes was missing, she took the stairs down two at a time, slipping from the blood on her boots. Emotion hit her like laundry at the bottom of the chute on washing day.

There, surrounded by a ring of charred corpses, was Anders.

“I didn’t do-”

Brisk tackled him to the stone floor. “You’re alive!”

“You’re alive!” He echoed before squeezing the breath out of her. “And free! Bisky, you’re free!”

“We’re both free. We’re all free.” Mitty sat up on her knees and dragged him with her. “I smashed your spare phylactery and the spare-spare phylactery and then all of the unlabeled ones for good measure. And I told Irving off for letting the Templars take liberties-”

Anders snorted. “Liberties is one way to put it.”

“-And I choked out Greagoir and threatened to kill him, but I didn’t, because he was afraid of me. And I met a Qunari and he calls me ‘honored friend’ and he doesn’t have horns and in their culture that means he’s special, but I could have told you that, he’s amazing. And, and-!!” Mitty wiped the sudden wash of tears from her eyes. “And I found my mother!”

“That’s wonderful! Where’s everyone else? If you tore down Irving and Greagoir, they’re with you… Right?”

“Oh. Oh no. No, no, we need… Let’s get cleaned up and then… Then we need to talk.”

She hugged him again once they were standing and then they went back up through the Keep. It took a lot of orders and stern looks, but they were ordered baths and given rooms without any cleaning or heroic grandstanding. Lingering outside of Anders’ door, Mitty took several deep breaths before pushing the door open. He looked just like he was back in the Tower: hair in a low ponytail, patched mage robes and stroking the faded embroidery on his pillow.

Mitty sat next to him and snuggled into her usual place under his left arm. She clutched it to his chest. “They managed to take Lily to Aeonar before I could stop them. Jowan is alive, but on the run for trying to assassinate Arl Eamon. And the… Blood magic thing. I’m afraid he’s too busy being hunted to realize that blood magic isn’t the answer.”

“Maybe not the answer, but it was all he had.”

“He had us. And- and he got me implicated in all of it! If I hadn’t been recruited I would have been killed or worse.” She sniffed and wiped her face on his robes. “Amell is d-dead. He- Uldred staged a rebellion, with more blood magic. Amell died protecting some of the little- They put a dragon on his headstone. And wrote his family, so they can know.”

“I knew about him,” Anders said. His voice was small, a whisper of a fear lived and suffered. “I thought you would- Didn’t you get the message I sent?”

“It’s not me. I sent one, too. I sent, I sent a lot. I know you’re not supposed to, but I had to. I loved him so much. He was my best friend.” She rubbed the constellation on her wrist. A laughed knocked against her teeth and forced all of the air out of her lungs. “You didn’t call me by name in the message, did you?”

A pause. Anders laughed and wrapped his arms around her to pretend he wasn’t crying through the laughter. “His poor partner. Lost him and now so confused at getting a message for Bisky.”

“My name’s Mitriel. The one my parents gave me. Mitty. I like it. Bisky is okay, though. That’s a nickname you gave me. Anyone can give you a nickname. Just not…”

He stroked her hair. “Yeah. I know.”

“The only one who does, really.” She didn’t have sleeves on. She never did, anymore, but their warbler was hiding, half behind a tree with its ribbon dangling almost out of sight. They were right there, so close, but for once, the words she wanted wouldn’t come. “My cousin was kidnapped with me. Once I get Mhairi and Oghren Joined, my mother and I are going to go look for her. We were, were going to find you first. I have orders keeping you out of Aeonar and declaring your freedom, but they’re only good in Ferelden and we both know the Chantry won’t care and will try to take you to Orlais now that Kinloch Hold isn’t in their control.”

“The Chantry might not be afraid of Ferelden, but they’re afraid of Weisshaupt, so I might take in with that Joining, too. It’s not as if I’d leave you now.”

“Good. Yes, good. Because after finding you, we were going to Kirkwall to check on Karl and-”

“It’s too late.” Anders said the words as if he were as dead and cold as the stone keep.

“What? What do you mean it’s too late? I know Kirkwall is awful, but-”

“Have you ever seen what happens when you do the spell for someone who’s been made Tranquil.”

“No. No, they couldn’t have-”

“The fire lights up and changes colors and magic is everywhere, but the mark never appears. Never travels. Never sends a message. Their partner is gone, worse than dead, and they don’t even get to know. The last, final injustice of the Chantry on their captive mages.” He held her so tight that her ribs creaked and the sobs were squeezed out of her lungs.

“No, no Karl-”

“It’s just us now, Bisky. We’re all we have, so I guess your mom has to adopt me now. It’s the law, I’m sure. We can look it up after we do the paperwork.” The joke cracked and shivered, but didn’t break between them.

“Yeah, that sounds right. She’ll be delighted. I told her all about you.”

The warbler was still there, twice in the crush of limbs and tears. But it would be there later. Would be there forever, after they’d had time to grieve. They’d chosen each other as friends before Fate or the Creators or whomever had Marked them. They’d made a choice to be unlonely. And that’s what Anders needed, what they both needed.


End file.
